


New Beginnings, and an Unsure End

by viciousracket



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fanfiction, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciousracket/pseuds/viciousracket
Summary: Draco had always wanted attention. His whole life he searched for it everywhere he went; he could never get enough of it.So, of course, the one year that he doesn't want any, he finds himself suffocating from it.Or, it's eighth year at Hogwarts, and while everyone attempts to recover from the horrors of the war, someone decides to stick a piece of parchment with a ridiculous story titled 'Drarry' on the common room notice board. Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	New Beginnings, and an Unsure End

**Author's Note:**

> i'm quite a slow writer, so i'll update this when i can : )
> 
> my tumblr is : angelsiceberg <333
> 
> please leave kudos if you enjoy!

Most people had been worried about returning to Hogwarts for eighth year. Some had even been close to rejecting the letter they received shortly after The Final Battle that invited them back, and instead of return to Hogwarts, try to find a way to get through life without their NEWTs. Of course people would be apprehensive about returning to school after half of it had been destroyed the last time they were there. Many people didn’t think they’d be able to face walking the corridors where the year before they’d had to watch the Carrows prowl, searching for innocent students to practice their dark magic on. Who could honestly say that they were excited to be paraded into the Great Hall, where only a few months ago they’d mourned over their dead classmates, and enjoy a classic Hogwarts feast, without wondering how the teachers had got the putrid smell of death out of the old battered stone walls?

So yes, a lot of people were worried about returning, but in the end, for a long time, Hogwarts had been the safest place on Earth, and although the wounds of the war were still fresh, it didn’t take away from the fact that so many good people had survived the war, and wanted to continue living.  
People were scared, of course, but excited for a new start.

Draco Malfoy, however, was not. Draco was downright terrified. He had felt sick to his stomach at the thought of returning to Hogwarts. The same Hogwarts where, instead of spending his seventh year messing around with his friends, and studying for his NEWTs like he had wanted to, he had been forced to join the Carrows in torturing first years. The same Hogwarts where he had spent a whole term pouring all his energy into finding a way to let the Death Eaters into the school. The same Hogwarts where he had lifted his wand against Dumbledore, the man who could see straight through him, and even though he was about to die, still offered help and refuge to the boy who intended to kill him. The very same Hogwarts where he, and undoubtedly countless others, spent nearly every night sobbing into his pillow, praying for Harry Potter to come and save him, to come and save them all.

But despite all that, despite all he had gone through in the last few years, Draco Malfoy had survived. For a while after The Battle, he wished he hadn’t. He wished it was him that had died instead of Snape, or instead of Dumbledore, or instead of the countless others who’s pictures had continued to fill The Prophet’s front pages for days after the battle as more and more bodies had been identified. Draco didn’t think he’d ever be able to get the image of a motionless Collin Creevey to leave his mind for a minute at a time for a while, and he still thought of the small grey body, splayed across the cold stone of the Great Hall, surrounded by so many others, at least once a day. So many people had died because of The Death Eaters, because of his father, because of him. And yet, he had survived. Against all odds, despite his hopes that he would be thrown to the dementors for what his father did-and by association what he did-he had survived, and was sat in the 8th year common room, holding a steaming cup of very sweet tea. Draco had survived the war, and now he had to learn to deal with the consequences of it.

The first few weeks after coming back to school had been filled with mournful speeches from the Headmistress about ‘doing better’, ‘starting fresh’, ‘not forgetting, but forgiving past prejudices’, and ‘forging new friendships’. Draco didn’t think he’d ever seen as many tearful eyes, or flushed blotchy cheeks as he had in those first few weeks. The eighth years had been given some extra time to settle back into their environment, as they were the ones at the forefront of the war. Without lessons to distract them, a lot of the students had resorted to crying in their spare time; it was still too soon to expect people’s minds not to wander back to the horrors they’d witnessed. 

So, for a rather spacey three weeks after school started, Draco spent his time mostly people watching. He watched people as they stared down at their food at mealtimes, their jaws slowing to a halt, before their friend nudged them and they returned to the conversation. He watched as people sat by the black lake, so lost in thought that the late September chill didn’t register, and he watched as when it did, and people they began to shiver, they didn’t care, and continued to stare out over the still water, as if trying to see something that wasn’t there. Draco watched as night after night the eighth year students laughed in front of the fire, the soft orange glow warming their faces, washing them of the worries of the day as they played chess, or gossiped with their classmates. But Draco also saw the way their faces paled when it was time for bed, saw how the thought of going to sleep made people sick. He could relate. But the person Draco found himself watching the most, was Harry Potter. Draco’s eyes drifted to him at mealtimes, and when Harry was settled on a fluffy armchair in the common room, watching Weasley and Granger cuddle on a nearby loveseat. 

Draco often wondered when he’d begun to internally refer to Potter as ‘Harry’. Probably during the same period when hoping that Harry was out there, somewhere, about the save the world, was the only thing that allowed Draco to sleep at night. Or maybe when he had begun to wish Harry was there in the Slytherin dorms to comfort Draco when he was utterly terrified of what was going to happen. Or perhaps he had begun to think of Potter as ‘Harry’ when the Golden Boy's name has started to leave Draco’s lips as soft moans sometimes, while the water of the prefect showers crashed around Draco and his stroking hand, washing away the shame and fear of what he was doing. Whatever the reason, Draco found himself watching Harry a lot. And his hidden stares were no longer filled with jealousy or rage, but with something of contentment, with pride, with a soft yearning to be close to him. To be close to the saviour of the wizarding world, and know that he would never be put in danger again.

While the first weeks of school were rough, things began to improve when classes started. With something to do other than just sit and reminisce, the students of Hogwarts spent less time thinking of the war, which seemed to always lead to tear-stained cheeks, and spent more time studying in the library with friends, or walking around The Black Lake complaining about the homework they’d got that day. Gradually, the atmosphere in the eighth year common room seemed to improve, and by the time Halloween decorations had been put up in the Great Hall, most people seemed to have run out of tears, and spent more time smiling than staring into the void. Students chose to sit in the warm and welcoming common room rather than hide themselves away in their dorm rooms, and surprisingly the different houses seemed to forget to segregate themselves this year- opting instead to blend with each other. Draco marvelled at the symphony of coloured robes that softened his eyes every time he collapsed into the soft sofas after his gruelling lessons, but still didn’t let himself quite relax. 

The boy still didn’t believe he deserved to be there, didn’t think he was wanted among these children who had lost so much, but were still attempting to make the most of it. Draco had, of course, forced himself to attend lessons, and worked hard, but instead of strutting the school searching for attention like he had for most of his previous school years, he found himself attempting to blend into the background, trying to avoid any and all notice from others. Draco had been shocked when his presence at Hogwarts hadn’t been met with curses and dirty looks, but after a while, he simply realised his classmates, and former enemies (it seemed strange to call them enemies now, after they had saved life multiple times, and he’d wanked to one of them for the past five months, so he decided he wouldn’t call them that anymore) were too exhausted after the war, too depressed, too relieved at the peace, to give a single fuck about Draco Malfoy. 

And he liked it that way. Draco liked being invisible to everyone but Pansy and Blaise, and even they often left him to sulk by himself a lot of the time. He liked being able to watch without being watched, to observe people’s movements and actions and emotions, without being dissected himself. Draco had continued to watch Harry throughout October, when everyone apart from the saviour perked up somewhat. It wasn’t that Harry acted so obviously depressed all the time so that his unhappiness was painfully easy to see; but Draco could tell that he wasn’t as happy as people assumed him to be by the worried looks his friends sometimes threw his way, or the way his face went blank when he thought no one was looking at him. Draco saw that although Harry laughed with his friends, and got on with his homework (at least as much as he ever had done before), he looked lost a lot of the time, and it didn’t take a genius to guess why. Harry had always had a purpose in life, Draco mused as he glanced at the boy who was bent over a scrumpled piece of parchment, scribbling away, seated at a table in the corner of the common room. The Golden Boy had been part of a prophecy; from birth he had an assured fate. Now though, Harry’s life was unplanned. Draco saw the way that Harry cringed whenever the Weasel animatedly yapped on about joining the Aurors as a pair, how fun it would be. Draco understood, or thought he might, you could never quite be sure with someone as unpredictable as Harry Potter. It seemed that both Draco and Harry hadn’t fully expected to survive the wrath of Voldemort, and now neither of them were sure where to go next. Instead of planning out his future meticulously like Granger, or happily going down the first career path that came his way like Weasel, Harry was seemingly just trying to savour this last year at Hogwarts as much as he could with the dark cloud of the war hanging over his head. And, instead of following his father’s path in pursuing a suitable pureblood wife and taking over what was left of the Malfoy estate, Draco Malfoy spent his time watching Harry Potter.


End file.
